Night Windows
by UmiUmiSumi
Summary: Pam recalls the most pivotal day in her life.
1. Prologue

This is the first time I've written something in a while, just thought I'd let it be known. Hope this turns out ok.

* * *

She walked down the city streets that at one point in her life she thought would never leave. The smell of rail and industrial, mixed with the not far-off scent of trees and fields were familiar, comforting, but saddening. The years that she had wasted with the wrong person and in the wrong place -- no, not the wrong place, the right place for the time. Her life really began in that place.

Lights bounced back and forth off of the downtown buildings; businesses, restaurants, shops, places she knew, but only as if they were mentioned in a book she had read and loved long ago. She hadn't made this trip in the ten years since she left Scranton for good. There was just too many memories there that she didn't have the strength to yet face, but now it was time. The years had stripped it all away until all that remained was him, and she knew it was time. She could finally visit Jim.

Her thoughts played against the present-day scene in front of her, her memories melding with them, the past suddenly alive again. She winced her eyes quickly, feeling the emotions from that day wash over her as they hadn't in many years. Her instinct was to push them away, to get away from the hurt; but today, she needed to remember. She walked on as the memory of that day flooded her.


	2. Chapter 1

"Hum hum hum…" Pam trilled lightly to herself, tapping the eraser end of her pencil against the upper tier of her reception cubicle. Bored was a normal way of life for her in this job, but at this point she hardly noticed, and really didn't mind – it gave her plenty of time to sit and work on her next sketch for her art class. She was well past doing personal things while on the job here; having Michael Scott for a boss really set a low bar as far as being on-task went.

She was working on a particularly important piece, as she was planning it to be a gift to Jim. She was tingling with excitement as she finished up some of the finer points of the picture, and she wanted every line in exactly the way she wanted it; it would be her own little way of showing him how important he was to her that he deserved the best of what she had to offer.

"What'cha doing there, Sneaky Beesly?" she heard a deep and cheerful voice say from just on the other side of the partition. Her heart dropped to her knees and she quickly fumbled her pad of Bristol paper away under her keyboard.

"Nothing for you to look at!" she blurted up back to him, making eye contact that instantly brought a smile to her face. She leaned forward in a protective way, playfully exaggerating how she was covering up her project. He smiled back, his usual lopsided smile, with soulful brown eyes beaming back at her.

"Now you know," he said, pawing his hand down to her desktop, "that just makes me want to know more."

She moved back and forth to keep her paper pad away from his searching hand, and laughingly slapped him away. "Jim Halpert, learn to mind your own business for once," she declared in an overly-disdainful way, all the while still playing whack-a-mole with his hand.

"Bleah bleah bleah! Come on, kids, get a room!" Michael declared, stiffly walking up behind them. "We all know that Pam has a body that will NOT stop, but there is a time and a place for the bow-chicka-wow-wow."

Jim relented his grabbing and gave Pam a moment to slip her paper beneath the desk, all the while keeping her eye contact with him. "See, you can't get away with that childish behavior at work," she told him mockingly.

"Isn't she hot when she's angry?" Michael nudged Jim, "Now Jan, that is something you do NOT want to see even the least bit angry… or any other emotion besides happy…" he began to trail off as he went to hide in his office again, "or even sometimes when happy…"

Jim shot Pam an awkward glance, smiled and turned back towards his desk, "Well… back to work." He then sat back down, stared at his screen penciled something onto a notepad, then tapped away at his keyboard apparently back to sales as usual. Pam began to fall back into her daily doldrums when had an instant message pop up on her workstation:

Jhalperto79: So, you gonna show me your thing or what?

MixedBerryPB: Give it up.

Jhalperto79: You live to torment me.

MixedBerryPB: You just figured that out?

Jhalperto79: Devil woman… anyway, where do you want to go tonight? I thought you would have be all a-dither about it. Ooooone yeeeeear…

MixedBerryPB: Oh yeah, I totally forgot about it

Jhalperto79: (makes a sad puppy face) whine

MixedBerryPB: Oh, you and your stupid puppy, I'm just kidding and you know it. I want La Trattoria tonight, and I thought you knew that. You wouldn't let me forget all of the "obscene" noises I made when we went there on my bday

Jhalperto79: I thought you were doing your best Meg Ryan impression and it was just not appropriate for such a fine establishment ;)

MixedBerryPB: Can I just say that I really like their cannelloni, you turkey

Jhalperto79: Gobble gobble.

Jhalperto79: this might be a less than fun subject, but did you hear that Roy's been harassing Darrell to get his old job back? He's had to tell him like five times already that it's not going to happen.

MixedBerryPB: Yeah… I know about that…

Jhalperto79: he's still calling you, isn't he

MixedBerryPB: Yeah…

MixedBerryPB: I know I know… it's a bad idea, but I feel bad for him all the same. His mom died like a month after I broke it off for good, and he's just not getting past any of it. I told him that we would be 'friends' and I meant that.

Jhalperto79: Well, I've said this before, it makes me a little uncomfortable. But I trust you. I'm gonna try my best to not be paranoid or jealous, ok? Because I know you'd do the same for me if the tables were turned.

MixedBerryPB: Jim Halpert, there's so many reasons that I love you and you just gave me another. I promise to cut it all off it he does anything 'un-friend-like'

Jhalperto79: (blushes) aww. I mean, even though the guy's a total douche, I can sympathize with him a bit. I'd never want to lose you.

MixedBerryPB: Phone call. Gotta pretend I'm working. ttyl

Jim glanced towards Pam's kiosk, and indeed, she was on the phone with someone. He thought to himself that it must be Jan harassing her to tell Michael something, judging by the irritated look on her face. Her eyes caught his for a second and they just shouted, 'save me!'. He smiled and turned back to his work, realizing that he did, in fact, have some sales calls to follow up on while he had been busy flaking around with his lady.

During his second call, while he was listening to the muzak while on hold with Holman and Associates, Inc.', he spied a quick, subtle, but telling interaction between Dunder Mifflin's top salesman, Dwight K. Schrute, and Angela, ice queen of accounting: as he handed her a financial document, Jim could just make out a shiny metal key slip over the paper from Dwight's hand into Angela's. She looked up a Dwight, her stern features softened with a suppressed smile.

"Thank you for completing your financials on time. You are very courteous to do so," Angela said in a robotically loud voice to assure that there was no confusion as to the nature of their business.

Dwight, however, wore a very silly grin that he could do nothing to hold back. "You are very welcome. Anytime."

And with that they turned immediately back towards their desk.

"Back to business as usual…" Jim said to himself, chuckling a bit. Dwight peered Jim over his glasses as he sat back down and reached for his phone to start another sales call, but said nothing more. Jim merely smiled back.


	3. Chapter 2

"So, what did you do when Michael sent you home four hours early?"

"Ugh, you think I would get used to being embarrassed in front of everyone by now," Pam groaned, leaning her face into her hand, remembering how Michael had stood them both in front of the entire office, announcing that they had been a couple for a year now, and proceeded to shoo her off home early to 'make herself really hot' and some other standard innuendo. "But – I made the best of it. I went home and shaved my legs, which, by the way you should be thankful for—"

"Hey, prickles don't bother me that much," he added.

"You're so lying, but anyway, I took a long shower, and wrapped your present."

"That took you four hours?"

"Ok, so there was some Judge Judy and Oprah here and there," she mentioned flatly, then beamed back at him coyly. "How much longer did it take for him to let your leave?"

"Well, technically a half an hour, but I took fifteen minutes to make Dwight's "Get Out of One Prank Free" card. You'd be proud of my details, I even laminated it," he said, a bit of Dwight-fun pride brightening his face as he turned the steering wheel over and over to get into a tight parking space.

"Did you stay to see a reaction?" she asked, grabbing her handbag off of the floor.

"I didn't stay after I put it on his desk," he began, getting out of the door and hurrying over to the passenger door to open it for Pam. "But I dropped by because I forgot my wallet, of all things, in my desk drawer."

He stopped there, mid-thought, to give her his hand out of the seat. She pulled herself up, straightened out her dress a little self-consciously and looked up at him. He was fixated on her, taking in every detail of how she looked: her black satin dress with a playful halter top, simple high heeled sandals, her hair up in an easy twist with careless curls trailing out here and there.

"You're so beautiful," he told her, still taking in every little detail.

Pam blushed a little and smiled again, "You always make me feel beautiful, you know that," she told him, reaching up to his shoulders and bringing him in for a quick kiss and a nose rub. She took him by the hand and began walking.

"Anyway, as I was saying earlier, I came back for my wallet and Dwight was still there – and did I mention this was right before I came to pick you up?" Pam turned to him with her jaw open a bit. "He was all frazzled. When I came in I asked him if I could help him with anything, and he told me 'I know you've put something somewhere, don't think I'm not onto you by now!' I said I really meant it when there was no prank or joke or anything, that we were just being nice to him for once."

"And then?"

"And then he stared at me with his Dwight stare and went back to looking under every desk and chair for whatever he had imagined we had set up for him," he paused, looking thoughtful, "if only I could have known what perfect crime he had imagined – Dwight's own fantasy prank on himself! But still, I really must be off my game to think that he would have seen that card as sincere."

"And after all you did for him," Pam mused playfully, pausing in their conversation while Jim talked to the maitre'd about their reservations. He came back and sat with her on a bench, waiting for their table to come up.

"Who knew that creating an elaborate website dictating how to posthumously get a euthanized cat-soul into kitty heaven would have worked out the way it did," Jim said casually, perhaps moreso than he actually felt about the manner. Pam gave him a wry gaze.

"Who knew that you actually cared about Dwight that much," she said back to him, parroting his blasé tone.

"It is unsubstantiated that this whole thing did not begin as an elaborate prank. In fact," he sat up and tried to look very serious, "I rarely work that hard on anything that is not a prank. Therefore, my goal backfired and got Dwight and Angela back together and Dwight is now happier instead of being frustrated."

"Whatever," Pam quipped back, "I may have believed you if you had said that it was all to make Dwight suffer for the rest of his life at the hands of Angela. That may border on a cruel and unusual punishment."

Jim laughed, and then put his arm around her, her hand reaching up to mingle fingers with him. She turned her head to find him gazing at her, his eyes lost in his internal musings, then focused in on hers when he was nearly startled out of his thoughts by her.

"I love you, Pam," he said after what seemed like a long while of staring, his face still cocked with his crooked, endearing smile. She leaned her head down onto his shoulder and enjoyed his closeness until they were seated for dinner.


	4. Chapter 3

"Oh. My. God. If I take one more bite, I will surely explode. Bits of me everywhere – it won't be pretty, Jim," Pam said, her eyes wide while she leaned back to accommodate her overstuffed stomach.

"But it would be the prettiest explosion ever if it was yoooou," he said in the barfiest cute tone he could muster. Pam responded by sticking her tongue out at him.

"You gonna eat that last bit of shrimp?"

"You're cut off, Beesly," he told her with a flick of his finger. Pam made a pout, but quickly upturned it to a grin.

"Jim Halpert," she began, leaning forward on the table again, "if I may remark on this day that we have been dating for one whole year, that it should be considered illegal for anyone to be able to have not only a best friend, but possibly the best boyfriend on the planet all in the same tall, thin package," she fidgeted with her wineglass, trying to focus the anxiety that came with being earnest.

"And that's not just the Cabernet talking, is it?"

"Hm, possible," she said, eyeing the nearly emptied bottle set near the almost-burnt out tealight in the middle of their simple table, "but it just so happens that the wine and I share the same opinion." She crept her hand forward and took hold of his, stroking the tops of his long fingers.

"I've just had so much on my heart as I've been thinking about us – who would have ever thought we'd have made it, you know? After all that it took to even tell each other our feelings, all the dumb things I did, that now we've actually been together a whole year."

"Don't forget the dumb things I did – you're not alone in that little deception dance we kept going around and 'round in," Jim added, remembering the times he had been cruel and spiteful with her before they reconciled and found each other again.

"But none of that matters now, Jim, it really doesn't. Those years of awkwardness and heartache have made what we have now all the more precious and wonderful. You've done so much for me through your love, even before I knew you loved me! You encouraged me, you protected me – I know you were trying to show me that I deserved better, that there was more to being loved than being controlled, overlooked, and disappointed. I only wish I had seen it sooner," she grasped his hand tighter, tears sparkling in her green eyes.

"I really feel like you've given so much to me – you've really given me myself back, if that makes any sense. There are so many parts of myself that I never felt free to explore with Roy… he just wanted me to stay the same little Pam, who saw him as the sun and the moon, and nothing else. I know all of the potential I have now, and I don't know if I ever would have looked for it if you hadn't seen it first.

"I guess what I'm trying to say, is that you've done more for me than I can say, and I love you."

Jim's eyes were as tear-rimmed as hers as he cupped her hands with his, "Crap, you're making me cry too…" he began, laughing, wiping an eye with the back of his hand, "I want you to shine as bright as you can, because you've been my sun and moon since the day I met you. There was something about you and I haven't been the same since."

They were interrupted by the waiter arriving at the table again. But instead of offering them more water, he produced a flat, wrapped item from behind his back and offered it to Jim. "From the lady sir," he said, and turned on his heel and went back to his other tables when Jim had taken the package. Jim glanced up at Pam, who was beaming with excitement.

"I guess you did more than watch Oprah with your four hours then," he murmured to her; she giggled. "Can I?" he asked after he had nearly begun to lift a seam of the shiny blue wrapping paper.

"Of course, it's for you," she said, still beaming.

Jim slid his fingers under the taped seams, being careful to try and keep the paper intact as he could; Pam rolled her eyes a little – she had discovered his little wrapping 'problem' during Christmas. He had preserved every scrap of paper and taken the longest time unwrapping that Pam had ever seen, though he had been thoroughly horrified by her manic tearing and shearing of her presents' paper. Within a couple of minutes, he had successfully taken the paper off and his mouth opened into an impressed 'O'.

"Pam, this is awesome," he said, still examining his gift: It was a professionally-matted pencil drawing of a person playing an acoustic guitar with a music stand in front. He realized after a moment, that it was a drawing of himself with his guitar – he could make out the headstock and recognized his own face, concentrating on the music in front of him.

"I wasn't sure if you'd think it was weird that I gave you a drawing of yourself," Pam began, "but I thought it was fitting – me using my art showing you pursuing your own artistic expression. I'm really proud of you for branching out and doing things that you want to as well. I watched you so long a few weeks ago that I had this image stuck in my head."

"Thanks," he said, still feeling very impressed, "I've never had anyone draw a picture of me, let alone such a nice picture. You know, this just shows that you've brought out my potential as well. I never would have even taken the time to try and learn to play the guitar if you hadn't prodded me on. And I really did want to do it for the longest time, I just thought I'd suck and it was a stupid idea. You subject yourself to my poor playing now on a weekly basis, and I don't know where you get the patience to listen to all of that, but… it means a lot to me when you do."

"And so," he began after a moment, placing the picture next to his chair, "I suppose it's time for me to give you your gift," he looked up at the waiter walking over again, "you totally stole my idea, by the way."

The waiter handed Pam a box wrapped in silver paper, the edges meticulously straight, the bow placed exactly in the center, "Definitely a Jim wrap job," she quipped right before she began to rip the paper apart with vigor, glancing up now and then to watch Jim squirm at watching his beautiful wrapping paper get turned into so much confetti. She revealed a cardboard box, which she opened to reveal an ornately painted teapot. Instinctually, she opened the top of the teapot and there inside was another box. A ring box. She looked up at Jim incredulously. He nodded at her, his face leaned into his hand as he watched her open it up, her expression becoming even more and more emotional. She looked back up at him, speechless.

"We've really already talked so much about how much we mean to each other," he said as he watched her take the ring from the velvet-lined box and study the details of it. "I was hoping that you'd consider staying together permanently."

Jim then stooped down out of his chair, positioned himself onto one knee, and took her hand.

"Pam, I don't care if it's tomorrow, or if it's ten years from now, but, will you marry me?"


	5. Chapter 4

Pam stammered and looked at him, still dumbfounded. Jim still looked on expectantly, though as each second went by his heart snuck down a little further towards his toes.

"Y… yes. Yes. Yes yes yes yes!" she said, her voice becoming louder with each yes. "Oh my god, Jim, yes… I've been waiting since the day you came back from the corporate interview to ask me this! Oh Jim…" she babbled, while laughing and crying at the same time.

"Then here," he said, with a tear of his own trailing down his face. He took the ring, a simple, understated ring with three small diamonds that made the half-carat princess cut diamond in the center seem all the larger and shinier, and gently took Pam's hand. He slipped the ring onto her finger. Pam then pulled him to his feet and threw her arms around him, crying, whispering to him her love over and over again. The restaurant erupted into an impromptu applause with a whistle here ant there when Pam kissed him.

* * *

They slowly made their way down the city streets, Pam hanging from Jim's elbow, holding him tightly as if there was a possibility that he would blow away if she let go. They took in the place that had not long before been a dead end, a place of disappointment and heartache, that was now brought to new life now that they had one another's eyes to see the world in a new way. Meandering through the businesses and houses of the downtown, they chatted and also enjoyed the silent company of someone so dear.

They passed an old Victorian-style home on a corner; well-kept, with lovingly painted scrolling, a turreted upstairs window, and a terrace off of a back bedroom. Pam stopped to make sure she saw it correctly.

"What is it?" Jim asked when she stopped and turned abruptly.

"Did I ever tell you," she murmured, staring up at the beautiful home, "that I've always wanted to have a house with a terrace off of the upper bedroom?"

"No, you never have," he mused, looking up at the house along with her. "I didn't think we had anything like that in Scranton."

"I didn't think so either," she crossed her arms in front of her, as if feeling a chill despite the warm summer night. "When I told Roy that I wanted a house with a terrace someday, he told me that they don't have those in Scranton and I shouldn't want stupid things like that. It was like anything that wasn't his idea was stupid," she added bitterly.

"He just didn't get it, you know?" Jim told her, "I guess some guys just never grow beyond seeing their own needs. You know, if I'm ever being an insensitive prick like that you have my complete permission to hurt me physically, or at least tell me what an asshole I am."

"I don't think you'll ever be like him. Honestly," she said with a half smile already on her face, "I think the only thing you and he have in common is the fact that you both have penises. I'm really not sure you're even the same species."

Jim laughed. "Good to know. Definitely good to know," he said somewhat uncomfortably. "But if this place ever goes on the market, let's take a look at it."

"With our salaries? Really…"

"Well, I said we'd look; maybe they'll feel like a charity case," he smiled down at her, giving her his arm to continue walking.

Jim noticed after a few minutes that Pam seemed more quiet than before, that she was pensive for some reason. "Something on your mind?" he queried.

"Um… no," she started, then shook her head, "Well yeah. Roy called me again after I left work today. He was almost incoherent – I don't know if I told you, but I'm pretty sure he's on drugs. He's sounded strung out the last couple of times he called and left messages, and today he let something slip about owing his dealer money. Anyway… he started getting really insistent that he and I should see each other again. I told him again that it wasn't possible, and he got mad, then he started crying. He's such a mess. Then I said that I don't want to hear from him again unless he's off the drugs and is settled with the fact that we're not ever getting back together." She sighed.

"I never should have thought that we could be friends after all this. I wish I had just cut it all off when I broke up with him. Why do I do dumb stuff like this?"

"You were with him a long time. It's gotta be hard to just cut all ties like that," Jim replied, reserved. They approached the car and he opened the passenger door for her.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't think about how this would make you feel when I let him keep talking to me. I'm just a sucker like that sometimes. But, I'm still worried about him. I never wanted him to have to be miserable; I just wanted to not be with him. I hope he gets some help. I called his best friend and his brother after that last call. They said that they've been trying to get him clean again, but he won't listen." She stopped, looking out of the car window at the neon reflecting off of other cars and shop windows. "I'm gonna change my phone number tomorrow. It's not good for me."

Jim nodded, rubbing her shoulder with his free hand.

"I'm sorry, Jim," she said again.

"Don't be. Just try to cheer up and be my happy Pam again."

She looked down at her new ring. She remembered how gaudy the ring Roy had given her; how he had asked her in the parking lot after a hockey game, half-drunk; how it didn't even fit. How he pawned the thing off two weeks after she gave it back. She looked back up at Jim as he was looking over to the side to parallel park on the street near her apartment. Jim was so thoughtful, forgiving, kind. She knew he was what she had been waiting for when she had dreamed of a husband when she was a girl. That made her smile, and resolve to never look back again.

"I'll be happy as long as I have you," she told him.


	6. Chapter 5

"Are you going to take your present with you?" Pam asked Jim while she was getting her sweater out of the back seat of Jim's car.

"I'll leave it in there for now. I don't want to forget it at your place – stuff never makes it home when I do that."

"Then, I'll leave my teapot under the seat with it. I'll keep it at your house, since you don't have one," she told him, shutting the door.

"Teaparty at Jim's house!" he exclaimed with a comical gasp. She swatted him on his butt before she grabbed his hand and went with him towards her apartment. There weren't many parking spaces within the complex, and Pam didn't have the disposable cash to 'rent' herself a designated parking space. Luckily, there was plenty of street parking a few minute's walk away, and the neighborhood didn't leave her worried about having her car broken into.

"You want to watch a movie or something, or just cuddle up with some low music and a bit of candlelight?" Jim asked, giving her a lusty glance.

"Definitely cuddle time," she answered.

A speeding car raced by, squealing its tires around the corner behind them.

"Freaking drunks," Jim muttered to himself, "I'm glad we're getting off the road. Friday nights have gotten awful around here."

"I know, it's every weekend now," Pam replied. "So, have you thought about how soon you want to set a date?"

"Well…" he began, musing a bit, "Yeah, I thought I'd let you decide on that. I'm good whenever you are."

"Really? You actually meant that? Because this is your one chance before I take this thing by the wheel and ride with it," she said, somewhat jokingly.

"Really, Beesly, none of this let's get engaged and then not ever get married crap. You want to get married tomorrow, we'll drive out to Atlantic City and get married by Elvis or Robert Goulet or whoever you want. I'm not afraid of this. I've been thinking about this day since the moment I took you on that first date," he told her, his voice serious and determined.

"Wow… well, I've always dreamed of a winter wedding, really," she started, beginning to let her mind dream about what she really wanted. "All the snow, a fur-lined coat, riding away in a sleigh."

"Just don't make me dress up like Santa Claus," Jim added, squeezing her close to him.

"PAM! PAM, I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU ALL NIGHT!"

Jim and Pam turned to where the slurred shout had come from, and running from around the street corner came Roy. He stopped, leaning over and panting, his face and chest soaked in sweat. He began, staggeringly, to run towards them again.

"Roy!? What are you doing here?" Pam asked, exasperated.

Roy neared the two of them, and finally noticed that Pam was out with Jim, and his face dropped with anger. "Halpert… you get away from her. She's mine," Roy growled, stopping where he was, some fifty feet away. He was snorting and twitching, and still breathing heavily not only from the run, but in a way that suggested he had been indulging in drugs.

Jim was about to say something, feeling angry and defensive towards the other man, but Pam held her hand up to his chest. "I'll talk to him Jim, just try not to let him get you mad – that's what he wants," she whispered to him.

"Roy, what do you want?" she asked him, gently but firmly.

Roy looked confused for a moment, and rubbed at his scruffy-bearded face with his hand. "Pam, you and me, we need to be together. I'm a mess without you. Come back, let's pretend none of this ever happened," he shouted at her, his words drawing together at times.

"Roy… I can't. I can't for so many reasons," she began to explain to him again, patiently, but not getting any nearer to him. "Roy, you need to get help. I still care about you as a friend, Roy, please… I know you're on drugs, and it makes me sad to see you hurting yourself. I never wanted you to hurt like this."

He stared back at her for a while, trying to process everything that she was saying, his mind clouded and uneven. Pam cringed at his appearance: dirty, ripped clothes, unshaved, unbathed it looked like for days, and thin. Roy had always been a large man, and she had never seen him so gaunt, he must have weighed less than Jim now.

"Pam… just come back, I'll change, I'll be the old Roy, just like when we were happy… this is all just, you know, I can't get a job, I can't think… the stuff, it's just to keep me happy and if I had you again I know I'd be happy again," he blurted out all at once.

Jim watched the exchanged with worry; he didn't trust Roy, and never had, but especially now that the man was on who knows what, and likely drunk as well. He inched closer to Pam, afraid to let her out of arm's reach.

"No, Roy, how many times do I have to tell you, we're all done like that. It's over. O-v-e-r. It's too late for us, Roy, but that doesn't mean that you can't keep going. You're capable, you were a hard worker! Don't let all of this ruin you Roy. Please," she pleaded with him, "I'm sure you'll be able to make someone very happy, Roy, just learn from the things I've told you, from why I ended it. It won't take much, Roy, but you just have to be strong."

At that, the disheveled man began to bawl, and dropped to his knees. "Pam…" he sobbed, covering his face with his hands. Pam sighed a little in relief, and looked over her shoulder at Jim. He walked to join her, and the both of them slowly approached Roy, who seemed to have melted into a sobbing heap.

"Roy… I'm gonna call your brother, ok? He'll come and take you home, help you get clean," Pam cooed to her ex, and approached him to put her hand on his shoulder.

"I'm nothing… I'm done for Pam… I can't go on without you," he cried, gripping his hair on the sides of his head, tortured.

"You can make it, Roy," she began, when he suddenly looked up and snorted, his eyes wide and maddened. He scrambled back away from them, tears still streaming down his dirt-stained face, and produced a small pistol from the back of his pants. Pam gasped and backed up into Jim.

"I'm DONE!" Roy proclaimed dramatically, turning the pistol to his head.

"No, Roy, don't!" Pam screamed, and froze where she was, her heart racing.

"Roy, goddamn it, don't do this," Jim shouted after Pam had done the same.

"Give her back to me," Roy said, trembling with the gun still at his temple.

"Roy, we can talk about this, but I need you to put the gun down," Pam pleaded again, inching towards him with her hand out. He looked at her, eyes still wide and bloodshot. She walked a little faster towards him, her hand out to him.

"You'll come with me?" he mumbled to her.

"We'll all go together and talk and work something out, but you've got to give me the gun, Roy," Pam whispered, now only feet from him, smelling the liquor that he seemed to be doused in.

He relented. He slowly lowered the gun to his side, and stared into Pam's eyes. She tried her best to smile when he did this, hiding the panic and fear that had gripped her for the past few minutes since he charge out on them. "Come on, Roy, let's take some time to calm down. Why don't you put the gun on the ground?" she asked him. She could see now that it was the gun that he had kept in his sock drawer at home, in case of attackers as he had always said.

Roy stared down at her, and seemed to soften, his face seemed to relax. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he saw her hand: a new ring. A shiny ring with a big diamond. Not his ring, He looked up at Jim, he looked down at her and contorted his face with anger.

He flipped the gun back up and pressed it into Pam's chest.

"Roy…what… why?" Pam whispered to him, feeling the metal cold against her thin dress. Roy could see her trembling, her eyes rimmed with terror-laden tears.

"Roy, don't, what? Dammit, don't!" Pam heard Jim desperately shout, his voice breaking with fear.

"We're not talking, are we? You've given yourself to that slimy bastard… he charmed you, poisoned your mind, and now you're his. You're HIS!" he grabbed her hand and waved her ring in front of her face. A small gasping sob escaped her lips. "You bitch… you whore… he took you from me and now you're not worth taking back," his voice roared maniacally and shook her arm again.

"Roy… please don't hurt her, please," Jim begged, feeling as if his feet were encased in cement – twenty feet away but twenty feet that couldn't be crossed before Roy could kill her.

Roy's eyes flashed with a manic thought when he heard Jim again. "What makes you think I'd ever hurt her, Halpert?"

Roy shoved Pam away roughly onto the street and raised his gun again.

"But I would hurt you."

Two gunshots could be heard ringing through the normally quiet neighborhood, and then all was silent again.


	7. Chapter 6

So many of the events of that night would be forever etched to the wall of Pam's memory, as piercing and scarring as the shots she heard, the shots she saw fired.

She skidded against the pavement after Roy shoved her down, scraping her knees and elbows. She quickly, in a panic, whirled to face Roy again, unsure if he were about to turn on her again. She saw him pointing the gun away from her, heard him speaking, but what he was saying didn't register before she realized what was happening, a bullet fired before she had time to even scream. She saw Jim, looking as incredulous as she had just been, jerk back at his belly, his hands reflexively covering the spot where the bullet had hit. He looked back up just in time to see the smoke from the second shot and Pam saw him take a small step back he took when another spatter of blood appeared from the right side of his chest.

She didn't remember getting up, she didn't remember running to him; she only remembered the surprised look on his face when he looked down at his own bloodied hand, and how he slowly wobbled down to his knees, staring down still as he slowly seemed to grasp what had just occurred.

"Oh my god, oh my god…" she kept breathing over and over again when she arrived at Jim's side. She shook her open hands out around her head, not sure what to do as she surveyed the blood that was beginning to soak and drip down his shirt and onto the pavement. She turned abruptly, remembering that Roy was still somewhere behind her, and came to see that he had come closer to them, still brandishing the gun. She then did the only thing that came to mind, what she wished she could have done thirty seconds earlier: she threw her arms around Jim and shielded him with her body.

"You have to go through me if you want any more, Roy," she shouted out into the air, not looking back at Roy again, but burying her face into Jim's hair, her body trembling against his. She didn't see the expression on Roy's face suddenly change again, from a maddened anger into a horrified realization of what he had just done. She heard the gun drop to the ground with a metallic clatter.

"What… what have I done?" he asked himself softly, watching Pam's terrified form protecting the person she loved, to the point of putting her own small body in between him and an imminent death. "Pam… Oh god, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he babbled over and over again.

"Go away, just don't hurt him again… don't hurt Jim again," she cried; she just wanted the threat gone, she didn't care where he went, he just needed to leave them both alone.

Roy began to look around him, paranoid, fearful. He knew that he had wronged her so that there was no forgiveness, no coming back again. His only thought: run, run away, run so it won't be real anymore, run!

When Pam heard Roy's running pace grow more distant, she looked behind herself again to see that he was now in fact gone. She released her grip on Jim, and the momentary relief that she had felt knowing that they were no longer being threatened was replaced with the panic she felt when she looked at Jim again.

His face had already grown pale by a few shades, and the entire front of him was completely awash of blood now, yet he had managed to remain sitting with his legs folded under him, though he was visibly trembling from the beginnings of shock.

"That was really brave, Pam," he whispered to her, breathing heavily, trying to smile at her.

"Are you OK…? Oh my god, what happened? I heard shots…" a man ran up behind them from one of the nearby houses around the corner where Roy had come running from.

"Please call 911," Pam cried to the man, fumbling through her purse for her cell phone, which she found and practically threw at the man, "He's been shot… he needs help – soon!"

The stranger did as she asked her, in a bit of a panic himself, and paced away as he began speaking with the state police dispatch to get to emergency services.

"We're getting help, Jim, don't worry," she told him, cupping his face with her hand before she began to try and figure out if there was anything she could do herself before the paramedics arrived. She grabbed her sweater and thought that it may help to apply pressure to the wound on his abdomen, his own left hand already firmly covering the wound to the side of his chest. He winced at the touch. "Sorry… I just thought," she began when she thought she hurt him.

"No, no… it's ok… it's just starting to hurt now," he told her, trying to position himself into a more comfortable position, and not only found that there was no position that was comfortable at all, but that he was beginning to have trouble staying upright at all. "I think I should lie down," he told her.

"Here, put your head on my lap," she said, scooting herself behind him, then gently helped ease him down.

"You know… I thought that would have hurt a lot more than it did," he began, trying to help ease the obvious anxiety that Pam was feeling, though he wasn't able to get his voice to sound anything better than a strained whisper. "Just like getting punched really, really hard, no flying off my feet from the force of shot. I'm starting to think movies are full of crap on all of this gun stuff."

Pam gave a still concerned smile back, but was bolstered by Jim's attitude. She was trying her best to ignore the blood around her, as she had always been frightened by the sight of it, and also didn't want to think about how much blood he was losing while there wasn't anything she could do besides what she felt was the equivalent to slapping a band-aid over the wound.

"I'm glad he didn't hurt you, Pam," he said, grasping her hand that held down the now red-soaked sweater with his own already bloodied right hand. He looked up at her face, his eyes filled with earnest relief that she hadn't taken any shots from Roy, filled with the love that would have gladly taken those bullets for her ten times over if it meant keeping her safe. Pam tried to smile at him, it only served to weaken her bottom lip back into trembling and her eyes into tears. She touched his face again, and traced a fallen tear of Jim's face, which had trickled down to meet with one of his own.

He suddenly was racked with a series of coughs, which sent him writhing in pain that lasted far longer than the coughs had. He grasped her hand so tightly now that it nearly hurt her too. Pam leaned over him, whispering, "It's ok.. it's ok – it' will stop, I'm sorry it hurts.." hugging his head with her free arm until his pain subsided back into a tolerable range.

"Wow, that really hurt," he moaned, panting and wide-eyed. Pam noticed a trickle of frank blood that had formed a small black-red trail off the corner of his mouth, which she wiped away quickly with the corner of her skirt. "Really can't breathe too well on that side now…" he mentioned, more to himself than to Pam, "good thing I've got two lungs, eh?" he tried to smile at her to calm her again, but it wasn't working well anymore: her face still kept the look of heart-wrenching fear as she looked down at him.  
"I must look pretty bad," he asked her gently, to which she nodded, then stroked his cheek again. His skin felt cold and damp.

"They should be here any minute," the man with her phone called over to them from the sidewalk where he had been pacing back and forth while he stayed on the line with the emergency dispatcher.

"Thank god," Pam murmured, and leaned over to kiss Jim on the forehead. Every minute that passed before he had medical attention, she thought to herself, may have been just as well for him as another bullet wound.  
"I'm sorry this happened, Jim, I'm so sorry," she finally whispered to him, the thought having been on her mind since Roy had run away, "I shouldn't have ever talked to Roy again… God, I'm so sorry Jim…"

"Shh… Pam, don't blame yourself for this," he said, trying not to stammer between the breaths that were getting quicker, harder, and more desperate feeling the longer he lay there. "You were just trying to be a friend … you're not responsible for his actions. I will never blame you for this, don't ever let yourself think otherwise."

"But.."

"No, no more of it," he said, almost stern. She nodded her head at him, and he made his best effort to get his normal, wry, disarming smile out for her, and stroked her hand that he still held onto with his fingertips.

A couple more minutes passed by in impatient silence, each one feeling like an hour filled with hopeful and terrified thoughts and pain. Jim felt himself growing weaker and tired, his breaths came faster and shallower, and a feeling of drowsiness began to come over him, like a white cloud of cool mist making everything surrounding him out of focus and dream-like.

"I think I'm going to close my eyes for a bit," he said sleepily to Pam, his eyelids fluttering over his now sunken eyes.

"No, don't do that, Jim," she told him firmly, "I need you to stay awake with me. No sleeping yet."

"Ok…" he drawled out quietly. He was suddenly aware of how unreal everything around him was feeling, how Pam's face was taking on an ethereal glow in the light of the moon and streetlamps, suddenly aware that he was drifting away faster than he could control down this stream towards unconsciousness.

"Pam… I need to tell you something. Maybe this is silly," he said, his voice only but a whisper and his words began to slur together, "we'll probably be laughing about this tomorrow… but.. Pam, if I don't make it through this…"

"No, Jim, don't talk, you'll strain yourself," Pam interrupted him purposely trying to dodge the subject he brought up. He forced himself to look up meaningfully into her eyes, and grasped her hand again as tightly as his weakened body could manage.

"Pam, you need to hear this… If I'm not there for you, please… please keep going. Don't let anything stop you, Pam. Even if I'm not there by your side, I want you to always live for your dreams."

"But you are my dreams, Jim, don't say things like that," she said, broken, between tears. She stroked his hair, stroked his face, "I don't know if I could live without you."

"Pam… you're more than just the girl who loves me… you've discovered so much of yourself…" he said, getting quieter. "Pam, promise me,"

"No, no…" she moaned, wincing back tears.

"Please, promise me that if I die tonight you won't let yourself go with me. Promise me you'll keep going. Please."

She sobbed, then nodded, "Yes, Jim, I promise. But only because you want me to."

"Thank you…" he trailed off, closing his eyes that he simply couldn't keep open anymore. "Tell me," he asked her, his voice quiet and dreamy, "Tell me what we did tonight… where were we? I can't remember it that well now…"

"We went out to dinner," Pam whispered to him, "You asked me to marry you."

"Oh yeah…" he replied, and after a minute gave a small gasp and opened his eyes as if he were startled. "Pam, you still here?"

"Yes, I haven't left," she told him, looking down at him, seeing his eyes stare about as if he couldn't see her before he closed them again, relaxing again at hearing her voice. She lifted her head, hearing sirens off down the street.

"Good… I love you, Pam."

"I love you too, Jim."


	8. Chapter 7

She hugged the scratchy blanket around herself, as if she could use it to hide from the situation; the hospital waiting room, her own blood-soaked appearance, the police officers who were now leaned up next to a coffee vending machine, perhaps talking about her, perhaps not. She stared across from her at the metal feet of a worn plastic chair that was identical to the one she sat in, an ugly orange, bucket-seated hospital waiting room chair. She wished she were anywhere else, anywhere that would have kept the events of that night that still did not seem at all real from occurring. She turned aside again to look up at someone who came from the direction that they had taken him, but as it had been for the past thirty minutes, the person walked on by without a word.

She looked down at the paper cup with weak tea that one of the hospital staff had brought her. She had been taken aback somewhat by the kindness she had received. Maybe it was the way she appeared, ripped and bloodied dress, scraped elbows and knees, disheveled, tear-covered face. Maybe they knew already what she couldn't accept happening: that her lover had but a wisp of a chance of walking out of that hospital.

The two police officers had just finished interrogating her regarding the incident only a few minutes ago. They had been brief, and kindly so, as she had a hard time not becoming overwhelmed with emotion while recounting the sordid events of the past hour. They informed her that the entire county was on alert for Roy's truck and assured her that he would be caught and no longer a threat. But she knew that it was likely that there was no longer any threat from Roy… something in him had been destroyed the moment he had turned on them. He had never been a truly bad person before, and she doubted that he could ever truly grapple with what he had done to the both of them tonight. She didn't retain any sympathy for him, however, and she never would have a sympathetic thought towards Roy Anderson again in her life.

Still staring at the hideously garish orange chair in front of her, she let her tired mind drift back to when she had last seen Jim. After the paramedics had surrounded Jim like so many ants on a candy and seen fit that Pam was unhurt despite her blood-drenched dress, Pam pleaded to let her not leave Jim's side on the ride to the hospital. The head paramedic and the police on the scene were at first not going to budge for a number of reasons; the police, that they needed to question Pam about the altercation as she was the only readily-available witness; the paramedics, out of concern for having her in the ambulance if Jim were to crash on the way to the hospital. But when one of the officers tried to escort her away, Jim, still somewhat conscious, but becoming more and more confused, became distressed and called for her when she left his side. Reluctantly, the paramedics allowed her to stay with him if only to keep him calm.

The ride was strangely calm after the urgent bustling at the scene of the shooting; the whirring of the engine, the constant beeping of the pulse oximeter that they had clipped to Jim's hand. He was quiet on the stretcher, somewhere in between sleep and bewildered consciousness, with an oxygen mask strapped over his face, though he continued to breathe quick and shallow. She watched the IV fluid bag that had a line running into a catheter placed in his left arm, the drip going so fast that it was nearly a stream. He'd lost so much blood already; the paramedics had raced to get him hooked up to fluids, packed off the wound on his chest and on his side as firmly as possible, said that he needed surgery and blood transfusion as soon as they arrived at the hospital.

When they arrived at the entrance to the emergency room, the bustle began again – moving monitors, fluids, briefing surgeons, re-taking vitals. She knew from there she couldn't stay by him any longer. She whispered her love to him, kissed him on the cheek, and squeezed his hand one more time before they could rush him away. She heard him breathe her name back to her, almost silently, before he was carted off to be prepped for surgery.

And all that was left now was hope – hope for the expertise of the surgeons, the timeliness of a blood transfusion, for it not to have been already too little too late. She had never had much faith in medicine, but now she hung onto the knowledge of all the technology and competence that centered in a hospital, that Jim had a chance here. He had a chance.

In her trauma-dulled state, she had become lost in her reverie so that she had not noticed the two kind officers walk back to her, this time flanking a green-scrubbed, dark-skinned doctor between them.

"Miss…" the doctor began, hesitating, the shorter officer whispering her name to him again, "Ah, Miss Beesly?"

Pam turned suddenly, her heart jumped to her throat, nearly ready to leap out of her mouth, "Yes?"

"You're Mr. Halpert's wife?"

"Fiancee…" she corrected him quietly.

"I'm Dr. Patel. I have been overseeing Mr. Halpert's care. I have news for you."

Pam's eyes widened in anticipation of what she was about to hear.


	9. Chapter 8a

Last chapter, folks. It's long, so I broke it into 2 parts. Enjoy!

* * *

"I'm really sorry I haven't been back for a long time," she said between bites of ham-and-cheese on white, "It's… well, you know it's been hard. I couldn't stay here after all of that, there was just too much for me to take. Too much bad stuff. But there hasn't been a day that's gone by in all of these years that I haven't thought of you; you've been my inspiration so many times. Oh, I almost forgot," she turned to her large handbag and brought out the other half of the sandwich that she was already eating and a small bag of assorted jellybeans.

"Here," she said, setting them down in front of her, "my friend Yusaku – he's from Japan, I mean, I met him there, and he is from there too – he suggested I bring you a little something. It's what they do there, and I thought it was a nice idea. You'd never believe it, I lived in Japan for a whole year! And so many other things…" she trailed off again, trying to make sense of putting the years past in order, what to remember, what to forget. She pushed a few curly locks back behind her ear, her hair shorter now than she used to keep it, with wisps of grey appearing here and there, though not enough to notice at a glance.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe it's a little silly, but I want to tell you where I've been, what I've seen. So I guess I should start where we left off…"

She sat in the slightly damp grass, her billowy linen skirt splayed out around her like a fan. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her face on top. She rocked back and forth for a while, trying to find her voice again. The beginnings of tears welled up in her eyes, causing the glow of the four tea lights she had set out to make an orange and yellow kaleidoscope in her vision. She blinked the moisture away; there was not enough there to make a tear fall, but enough that had kept her from seeing the stone marker on the earth in front of her for a little while, long enough to wish, as she had wished for so many years, that it had never need be laid. She felt her fingertips with her thumb, as if she could feel her hand trace over the name engraved on that cold marble as she had done nearly ten years ago.

The candles flickered in the light May breeze, throwing shadows about, of left-out bouquets of roses bound in ribbons, a pinwheel from a nephew that never met him but had always heard fond stories of childhood pranks and brotherly friendship. A mother's grief that can never be quenched, the sorrow of losing a child manifested in dark lavender lilacs. A sandwich and candies from someone who knew him better than he knew himself.

"Jim… oh, Jim…" she began. And try as she might, she could not hold back the tears that had waited for years to be let out again. "I hoped so hard that night… waiting for you. If my will alone could have had the power to fix you I would have used up the last ounce of my strength and given it to you. To just have seen you smile again, to have heard you say my name one more time…"

She closed her eyes again, hearing the words the doctor had told her. _"Best of surgeons… despite transfusions… so grievous the wounds… tried to resuscitate… too much blood loss… were not able to save."_

Sharply, she looked back down at the headstone before her; a simple marble wedge, low to the ground. She made herself read it again:

James Halpert

October 8th, 1979 – May 18th 2008

Beloved son; dear friend; forever missed.

She had hated that stone since the moment she saw it laid. It had become a part of the grieving process that she had never been able to shake. That stone was to her a constant reminder of where her love, the one man she had endured so much to finally know and cherish had been taken -- far off between grass, earth, air, and eternity.

"It was the longest moment in my life. I felt like a years passed between the words that the doctor said… I knew you were gone from the time he began to elaborate. Miraculous recoveries don't get minced words; death does."

_Her mind saw the hospital halls, dark and surreal, rooms with metal tables, strange blinking lights, powered-down monitors. A blue-uniformed police officer behind her and an intern in front. A quiet room with equipment not yet cleaned and put away. A white sheet draped over a still body with droplets of black-red beneath it. The intern lifting the sheet. She heard her own awful grief-stricken at the sight of his ghostly pale, cyanotic face, too still. She had felt his hand, and would never forget the despair she felt finally realizing that it was true – just a touch felt different, felt cold, felt lifeless._

"I hardly remember the rest of that awful night. One of the police officers had somehow gotten a hold of my mom. I know that I went home with her, slept on my old bed with nightmares of the past mixed with the present horror. I knew before I left that your body was now evidence of a crime, a murder. That you were to be transported to the county coroner's to be autopsied as evidence. I felt sick. I dreamt of you being cut up in a lab and would wake up screaming.

"Roy… they caught him that night, too. Ran his truck into a tree not far from Lake Scranton, they said with the intent to drive in and drown himself. I had become so cynical so quickly; I wished that he had just shot himself before, that I had not stopped him. The police called to tell me the next day that he was in custody and had confessed to it all. So guilt-ridden. Later on, when I had to identify him in person as your murderer – such a formality! – he had pleaded for forgiveness. Jim… you'd be disappointed with me… I never could. I wished he had died instead of you,"

_She saw the penitent face of Roy Anderson, the man that she had once dreamed of marrying and fathering her children. She hated him. She shouted to him that she wished he were dead, wished that he had shot her too. She saw his face turn to the ground, haunted, tortured._

"He's still in prison. That's all I know, and all I ever care to ever know about him ever again. The end of your life, Jim, ended my life in Scranton. The few days before your funeral told me that. Memories of us seemed to be waiting behind every street corner, every park tree, the bedroom of my apartment. The office, too. Maybe that place was the worst. I broke down a lot those first few weeks, but I think the worst was when I took your mom over to Dunder-Mifflin to pack up your things from your desk. I had quit by then, and hadn't been back since the day everything happened, so I needed to gather anything I wanted from my station too. We went on a Friday about two weeks after you died, after everyone was gone, but before the janitor came by to vacuum the floors,"

_Two women entered the darkened office suite. Both had dark circles under their eyes, pain and sorrow pulled at their faces, sleepless nights drew lines where there had not been before. Cardboard banker's boxes in tow, the younger began to throw items carelessly into hers. To look would be to remember: she did not have the strength to allow herself to remember anymore. She made the mistake of sitting in her old chair and looking across the room. She looked where she always had before and saw the empty desk where she would always find him looking back at her, a smirk ready at a moment's notice. How many times she had mouthed 'save me!' during a dull day. How she wished he could save her again. Instead, she watched his mother tearfully open drawers and go through pictures, papers, nick-nacks. Cry with those eyes that he had inherited from her, large, kind brown eyes. _

_She couldn't hold herself together anymore. She collapsed onto her desk and the pain flowed back into her like glass in her veins. She took the monitor in her hands and angrily screaming, threw it against the wall, kicking the chair, the sides of the cubicle, upending the shredded paper basket. She wiped everything off of the desk and the space above it with a crash, sending jellybeans and paper flyin. Her glass jar shattered to pieces on the floor and she stopped. She collapsed to the floor, sobbing._

"The last I saw of the Dunder-Mifflin folks was at your funeral. Hah… you would have liked it, I think it's funny to say. Everyone was the same there. Michael said something inappropriate to the effect of you being 'the coolest dead-guy' he's ever known. I did also have to send Dwight to wrestle the microphone from him when his eulogy went on longer than was needed. I think Creed stole a couple of the flower arrangements. Dwight got up to speak, and took Angela with him. I think that was their first display to the public in general as a couple… maybe they realized that there wasn't enough certainty in life to waste time playing silly games instead of just choosing to be with the people who mattered. Dwight only said a few words, but they touched me more than anything,"

_Arm in arm, tall and awkward Dwight held onto petite Angela, who made no more attempts to make a façade that she was not in love with man next to her. Dwight's eyes were red, his face tense and contemplative. He picked up the microphone, turned and looked at the open casket, at Jim's body. He turned back around and said, "Jim Halpert was a good man. His name will be remembered by my family." He turned and gave a tender glance to his Angela, took her by the hand and returned to his seat._

Pam stopped in her monologue, having spied something strange next to the bundle of roses. She crept forward, and found what it was: a young beet plant with a small flower atop the green leaves. She smiled. "Looks like he meant those words, Jim."


	10. Chapter 8b

Sighing, she leaned over to lie on her side, head propped up on her hand next to the headstone. "And so, I guess that's what happened immediately after you went. The rest of this I guess it about me and how I ran.

"Like I said, Scranton was haunted with memories of us, and I couldn't take it. I love you so much, Jim, but I would have lost my mind being constantly beset with my dreams that were now impossible. The life I had wanted with you. The house with the terrace, the winter wedding, the children I would never have. I never spent another night in my apartment. I gave away all my furniture, all of my kitchen stuff, everything except for the things that still had a little bit of you connected to them. A couple boxes were all I had. Your mom gave me some things from your apartment after she and your brother cleaned it out – I couldn't go, not after losing it back at the office.

"Your mom… we've kept in touch over the years. She'll call on occasion, to say hi, to say she saw one of my paintings somewhere. You know, at first she blamed me a little… I mean, how couldn't she have? It was my ex-fiancee who had killed her son. I was blaming myself too, and I know, I know, you told me not to, but like I just said. If you had never loved me, if we had never gotten together, if I had just stayed with stupid Roy or by myself or something you would still be alive today. Somewhere without me. I don't feel guilty for loving you anymore, Jim. I got a letter from your mom a few years after it all happened, around this time of year when you're on our minds more than usual, and what she said helped,"

_Dear Pam_

_How are you? It's been very nice this year here in Dunmore, we had such a mild winter this year, like the season is being kind to us after the heat of last summer. Joshua and Haylie are having another baby this fall – isn't that wonderful? Joshua says that if this one is a boy he's going to name him after Jimmy. I have to admit, it made me cry a little when he told me._

_I feel like I need to confess something to you, Pam. When Jimmy died, a part of me blamed it on you. I know that is a horrible thing to tell you after all this time, but I think I need to, to ask for forgiveness. I know there were times where it showed, where I was cold to you, where I could have comforted you more. But a couple days ago I was going through some things in the attic, and I found a picture and a letter that he had sent me when you and he went on that trip to San Diego. It was just a picture of the two of you together at seaworld, and the letter was short. But he told me in it, "Don't tell Pam this, I think it would freak her out, but I really know that she's the one. Mom, I'm so happy." And the picture just showed this to me: the smile he had, and not looking at the camera, but looking at you._

_Pam, please forgive me for feeling like he should not have been with you, because you made him happier than I had ever seen him before. You made my little boy happy and that's important. And I love you like the daughter that I should have had._

_I'm going to visit Jimmy's grave tomorrow, and I'll leave an extra flower there for you._

_Love,_

_Larissa Halpert_

"Oh, and by the way, Josh and Haylie did have a son, and they did name him after you. He tends to go by James, though; I think your brother didn't have the heart to have a new Jim around.

"So, I left Scranton in October of that year, a few days before your twenty-ninth birthday. I didn't know where I was going, but I needed to go. I felt so lost… without a purpose, without a plan. So my mom and dad gave me a good sum of money, and I took what I could from my savings and what I had from selling most of my stuff, and I went to Europe. I know, very bohemian, very much like a good old tragedy. And I went from town to town, historical site to castle, to see where people had been long ago and where people were planning to keep going into the future despite the past still living among them.

"I began to gravitate to art galleries and shows. I even went to the Lourve! And I began to paint again; pictures of the ancient streets of Paris and Rome, the seas at night, and gothic cathedrals. Soon I realized that I was making a portfolio for myself, and one day I woke up and finally had a plan. I wanted to be a real artist. But I wanted to go to school, I wanted someplace I could throw myself in and lose myself… to drown out my memories in colors and charcoal. I applied to a few programs and I somehow got accepted to the art program at USC.

"Before I left Paris to move to Los Angeles, I remember looking at myself in the mirror, and saw the same face that I had seen my whole life. I decided that I didn't want that person to be around anymore; I wanted see a new person in that mirror, a new person who was mysterious, who was fashionable, who had never experienced loss as deeply as I had. I cut my long hair off… dyed it black, bought new clothes with the last of my Euros and threw away my old clothes. When I arrived in LA, I wasn't sweet little Pam Beesly anymore, I was Pamela B., future artist and world-traveler.

"Ah… you'd laugh at me so much right now… but really! I pulled off that identity for years! Through the whole bachelor's program, through all of my gallery shows, through the master's degree. It was like… six years of that. And I really cut ties with anyone from Pennsylvania, save your mom who I didn't have the heart to not talk to, and my own family, though I never came back to visit during the holidays. I'd always say that I had too much to do, another show, working on another project.

"The only things of my past that I kept close to me, believe it or not, were the pencil sketch I'd given to you the day you proposed, and the engagement ring that I wore on a long chain. I'm still wearing that today, by the way. None of my new friends knew where I had come from, and no one knew about you. But it's easy to do that when you keep everyone at arm's length. I told myself that it was part of my new mystique – saying nothing of my past and remaining quietly aloof. But there was more to that… I just didn't want to see it.

"I… I didn't want to get close to anyone anymore. I didn't want to make friends that I would have to leave, I didn't want friends to see that I was broken inside. And I especially did not want to love anyone again. Those first years I spent trying to turn off the part of me that had loved you so deeply, if only so I could not feel the pain that I still felt daily.

"About three years ago now, I met Yusaku. I mentioned him earlier, remember? Anyway, at that time I had a faculty job at USC in the studio art department, working with modern international works, as I had taken to some neo-Japonesque styles in watercolors and ink media… anyway… He was working with the department on a gallery show as a coordinator and contributor. I had known of him already; honestly, I was in love with his work. After working with him for six months, we had forged a very good friendship. Somehow he had weaseled his way closer to me than anyone had been… well, since you. I think you'd like him; he's kind of a nerd, doesn't dress particularly well, but he's kind, he's silly. He never fit in very well back in Japan, his art and his attitude towards life always got him into trouble there, but he found LA very welcoming and comfortable.

"He wanted to be more than friends, and I knew that. But he knew that there was something holding me back, and he began to slowly work his way into the cracks in the elaborate mask that I had been wearing since I came to LA. Jim… gosh, he's really so much like you. So much like you that I almost made the same mistake again. He noticed one day that I looked at the sketch of you playing your guitar almost every day. He noticed that my thoughts went somewhere far away when I looked at you. He asked me who you were, and I lost it. I yelled and told him to stop prying into my life, that there were things about me that no one was ever going to know, that no one should know. He yelled back. He yelled that he loved me, he said that he knew that I was hurting about something every day and that he wanted to help me. I told him to go. And he did. He went back to Japan a week after the fight and I fell into crisis again.

"I was aware of what I had just repeated – I had just told a man who made me feel alive again to leave to protect my own discontent, my secret embarrassment that I was not only deep down a simple girl from Scranton, but that for years now I was living with the pain of loving someone who was dead. I couldn't function after that, I couldn't paint, couldn't keep my cool demeanor that had come so easily before. So I told the university I was going on sabbatical, a trip around the world to study art wherever I could find it. In reality, I was just running again.

"I visited Europe again, then Africa, then India. I tried to immerse myself in art and culture the same way I had after I left Scranton, but nothing seemed to help. Thoughts of you, thoughts of Yusaku, thoughts of hopelessness that I would ever live without being tortured. I harbored grim hopes now and then that a plane would crash, food would be poisoned, or I just would not wake up the next day. You must have known somehow that it was time to step in and set me straight…

_She found herself at her old desk back at Dunder-Mifflin. The walls, the computer screen, the phone, everything. She looked up to where he would always stand, and there he was, popping a couple of jellybeans into his mouth, leaning over the partition._

"_Hey, Beesly, what's up?"_

"_Jim?" she said, trying to stand, stammering._

"_Nice clothes," he said, grinning a little, "though I think the black hairdye is a little over the top. A little too goth-boho, don't you think?"_

"_I… I…" she searched in vain for words. "You're… d- d-"_

"_Dead?" he looked down at himself, dressed in his normal white button-up with a loose tie and wrinkled slacks. "Yeah, I guess I am. But, that's not the issue here right now; I'm not the dead-person of the hour. We're here to talk about you," he shook a long finger in her direction._

"_Does that mean, did I-?" _

"_Technically, no," he said with a shrug, "But I need to tell you something to ponder on. Ready?"_

"_Um, ok."_

"_I want you to consider this: while you have done some completely awesome things with yourself these past few years, have you realized that you've been killing who you really are?"_

"_But I've done this…" she looked down at herself, "to try and keep going, Jim, like you asked me to. It was the only way I could think of to try and get away from the pain."_

"_There, you said it – 'get away'. You're hiding, you're running, and you're killing the Pam that was everything that I loved." She could see the sorrow on his face,_

"_What do I do then?" she shouted, frustrated, desperate. "What do I do? I can't forget you, I don't want to forget you, but I'm afraid… I'm afraid the pain will be too much… I'm afraid that if I don't hide you away inside of me that I'll forget you… that I'll lose you again! I can't do that!"_

"_Ah, Pam.. Don't you know? I'm always going to be with you, no matter what. I want you to live, Pam, get to do what I didn't get to. Be yourself with scars and all, be that loving person that I know wants to live again. Go and see that guy you like," he said with a smirk._

"_Really? But…"_

"_It's ok… Pam, I don't want you to never find love again. I didn't want my death the be the death of your heart. I want you to live your life to the fullest again. You can't do that without love."_

_He had walked around to look at her face to face where she was standing. She knew this was a dream, but she could smell his scent, feel how close he was. She reached out, felt the warmth of his cheek against her skin._

"_I've missed you so much," she whispered to him._

"_We'll see each other again. It's just not for a while. You've got a lot left to live for." He took her into his arms and wrapped her in an embrace. She felt him real and warm against her, and closing her eyes, held onto him as tightly as she could, hoping to never have to let go._

"_I love you, Pam."_

_She looked up to find herself in her hotel in Kenya, the morning sun creeping through the blinds. She still felt his warmth on her, and she cried. But for the first time in a long while, there was no bitterness in her tears, and she was smiling._

"I know that was you. That had to be you. I've never been superstitious, never made too much of dreams, but it was all too real. And I'm sure you know, then, what I did. I packed up and took the next flight to Tokyo, where Yusaku had gone back.

"I found him, surprised him, even. Oh, if you could have seen the sad paintings, the dark drawings he did in the months that we were apart… I felt for him. They looked a lot like everything I had painted. I told him that I needed help, that he was right – I was broken on the inside, and I was hoping that he could help me put things back together again.

"It was slow. It was hard for me to break down the self-protecting habits I had formed in those years in LA. It took me months to open up about where I was from, longer to give details about my family, where I worked, about my engagement to Roy. But it took me the better part of a year to finally tell him about you. And during this time, I did begin to feel slowly reconciled to myself. I even began to dress differently, I stopped dyeing my hair, and my paintings! Jim, the paintings! Such color I had never thought I could create.

"And Yusaku… once I told him about you, I couldn't seem to stop. All of my happiest memories were with you, and the happier I was with him, the more stories of you would find their way out of me. And the best thing? He's never once tried to make me forget you. I asked him about it once, and he said that he could see that you were a part of my soul, and that if he were to love me that he would need to accept you as a part of me."

She stopped for a moment, wiping a tear from her smiling face.

"And now I'm here. I think this is the last stitch in the wounds from so long ago… Yusaku stayed in New York, he told me I needed to go alone and see you, tell you where I've been since we last were together, to tell you that I'm ok. To thank you for the life you compelled me to. Oh yeah… New York. I took a position at NYU in their art department. I'll be closer now, mom's much happier about that. Yusaku's come with me. He's starting a gallery in Manhattan. We've talked about getting married, but with me this stuff is still baby steps… I think I will if he asks me."

She grasped the ring on a gold chain about her neck, and held it tightly. "I still love you, Jim. I always will. Thank you for everything you've done for me, for the life that you helped me discover and re-discover. I still wonder from time to time where we would have been today if things hadn't happened the way they did, but I try not to. It's not fair to tease myself with what I was robbed of, and I'm doing as you asked. I'm living, Jim, and I'm doing it for the both of us."

With that, she kissed the tips of her fingers and pressed them below the name on the stone. One by one, she blew out the tea lights. Walking back, she knew every time she would come to Scranton, she would see him smiling back at her under moonlit night windows.

* * *

Wow, so that concludes my first fic in such a looong time! I have to say, it's great to be writing again. Now, I do need to take a bit of a break before I let another story suck me away from my home and husband. )   
One thing I wanted to do here was to give mention to the song that inspired the title of this story. It's called "Night Windows" by the Weakerthans off their newest album. It's probably my favorite song on an already excellent album. Here's the lyrics if anyone is interested:

"In the stick-count for the song of knowing you're gone,  
glancing up at where you lived when you lived here,  
I see you, suddenly alive and nearly smiling.  
Stop and hold my breath and watch the way you used to be.  
The full moon makes our faces shine like over-ironed polyester,  
then disappears behind the clouds,  
and leaves me under empty rows of night windows.  
We could walk to where these streets get pulled together—  
a blinking line with gravel shoulders squared towards an end.  
Where the radio resounds from doppling traffic.  
Where the power lines steal esses from the hourly news.  
De-pluralize our casualties, and drown the Generals out in static.  
We'd turn and watch our city sprawl,  
and send us signals in the glow of night windows.  
But you're not coming home again, and I won't ever get to say,  
"Remember how... I'm sorry that... I miss the way... Could we..."

-SL


End file.
